


Radish

by 1545011



Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: 1600s, 17th Century, Bed-Wetting, Cum Inflation, Degradation, Emasculation, Enemies to Lovers, Gay, Huge Dick, Humiliation, M/M, Musketeers, Older Man/Younger Man, Pee, Piss, Politeness, Sadism, Sexuality Crisis, Shoplifting, ass pee, excessive cum, excessive piss, he peed in his ass, hyper cock, idk - Freeform, lol, manners, mature - Freeform, small penis humiliation, sph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 14:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1545011/pseuds/1545011
Summary: part twoi definitely plan on doing more musketeers stories, some continuing and some with different characters or media types as well.please as always feedback ( and manners) are always appreciated and please let me know if you have a request or have something which you would like to see next :D





	Radish

Following his encounter with the older man, D’Artagnan remained tied to the sycamore for several hours before he could muster the strength to slip from the weakened fabric binding his wrists.  
His mind in it’s liminal space between the stranger’s departure and his own escape felt like a throbbing mess. He could hardly think, only feel his body move as he collected the halves of his broken sword.  
He returned to his apartment with only pause enough to drink from and bathe what he could of himself in the nearest stream he passed. It would have to be sufficient, despite it hardly taking a dent out of the stench of the other man’s piss still heavy on his doublet. The next morning he had taken his sword to a smith, who repaired it with the only significant scar being from the young gascon’s purse as tender.  
D’Artagnan could understand the oral sex part, but what was with the urination? It remained the only part which confused him. Clearly, his foe was cruel simply for the pleasure of it. To the younger man, he could only think of it as an odd and grotesque request on behalf of him. There must have been another reason that during their encounter he grew hard, it couldn’t have been that; It was too gross.  
Cupping his hands and alternating between brushing the crusted semen mess from his hair with his fingers and drinking himself to recovery, D’Artagnan stood clothed in the stream as he reflected on this. Like any Gascon, he felt as if he needed to duel this man once more to recover his honor.  
The brown haired boy found thoughts surrounding the subject occurring to him borderline obsessively in the weeks after. Was it because he couldn’t wrap his head around it that he started to think more and more of it? The feeling of taboo and anxiety on the topic of piss grew each day, as he went about his daily chores and in visiting with vendors or with his neighbors.  
Because being on the receiving end of the older man’s stream was so humiliating, D’Artagnan vowed he would reduce any associated humiliation he might come across.

‘What if I pissed myself right here, right now? I could. What if that happened and I couldn’t control it? What would these people do?’ Each time, he would think to himself fearfully; And then continue to fixate on how to avoid this situation when likely if he had not thought about it at all his outward expression might be identical and the only use that these preparations have is that D’Artagnan continued to think of urine.  
Logic was an too commonly an afterthought to the young man. Therefore, he took it upon himself to remedy this anxiety with more often than needed release. ‘I cannot have an accident like an unbreeched boy if I pass whatever I have in my bladder on the first instance I feel it, right?’ He would give himself this line of reasoning, unaware that his bladder was then shrinking as he exercised this new habit.  
The anxiety did not cease at thoughts, either. Because D’Artagnan was growing to fear urine so much he recoiled horribly at any amount, even the smell. Passing by puddles or seeing people empty their chamber pots was no longer mundane to the young man, but now filled him with horrible disgust.  
For certain, D’Artagnan knew that his worst fear would be to be pissed on again. To be vulnerable, weak, to have to accept the foul, warm liquid… It tormented him, influencing his actions illogically. For him to think that this action was even plausible was terrifying.  
It fit well with his idea of ‘what if’ that plagued him equally.  
In ways he did not understand, D’Artagnan making the thought of urine taboo for himself fed into his conflicted attraction he had saw in himself from the moment he felt the older man’s urine stream on his face.  
Paradoxically, the young man found that the only thing he could think of while masturbating was along these lines. It started of course with his fantasy of him and the older man again, but it resorted once more to the urination. ‘It was just how it went, is all. I liked something else from that, it wasn’t the piss. I can’t like piss like that, I am so afraid of it now.’ D’Artagnan would try to convince himself with these statements, but ultimately gave in and relished in these ideas; Beating his dick again and again to the idea of being pissed on by the older man.  
Each time, he would tell himself that it was a once-occurring thing. However, D’Artagnan wished he could cut free his own judgement and indulge completely in his perverse desires without having to dance around the subject first. At the core of it all, it was what he liked the most no matter how much he tried to think of girls and non-piss related actions.  
One night, nine days after his sexual encounter with the stranger, D’Artagnan woke prematurely in his apartment. He felt terribly cold but could not necessarily identify why.  
It was still in the dark of night and his hands fluttered blindly over his surface while he tried to find the source of it. His clothes were wet, his sheets were wet. It was all underneath him.  
Because his new habit had shrunk his bladder so much, the young man could no longer make it through the night without wetting himself.  
This enraged D’Artagnan. He pounded the mattress with his fist in anger, peeling the cold urine-soaked garment out from his lithe body.  
Nonetheless, the young man once more fell asleep before being able to wash himself and his nighttime shift off.  
His bed-wetting seemed to be a new normal for him, and this occurred each night for D’Artagnan. He felt terribly ashamed of it, and the Gascon felt very out of touch with himself since this seemed to garner a change in personality for him, especially around women. Still being the confrontational young man always with a hand on his recovered rapier, on certain days or under certain circumstances he did become markedly more bashful - Two weeks ago this would have been implausible.  
Because of this stranger, his life felt like it was spiraling out of control.  
Three weeks after his encounter with the older man, D’Artagnan found himself adjusting well enough, but still overcome with insecurity at how he felt like he was different than before his encounter with the older man.  
Today, the brown haired and youthful D’Artagnan strolled through crowded market way as he browsed.  
He saw the prices listed on the signs above the baskets, and considered creating his own garden just to bypass this.  
The young man wanted to lose himself just for a little bit, to focus on the mundane solely and without his fluid anxiety threatening to take him.  
As he held a small radish, he heard a familiar voice. It felt evil, and made him feel like he needed to resort to one of those sexual outlets he had taken up in an effort to relieve his anxieties and memories surrounding the stranger he met those weeks ago.  
D’Artagnan crushed the radish in his hand, while his other leapt to the handle of his rapier.  
He whipped around, forgetting the radish altogether, and sending his brown hair flying as he tried to identify the source of the voice. His gaze was desperate and seething.  
Surely, that was the stranger. His posture was modest, but his dress and rhetoric was haughty as ever. His black-brown hair still remained with the faintest waves which fell around his shoulders regally. Now, he stood with one hand in held behind his back as he leaned forward to examine cuts of pork from a vendor; With his other hand he twisted the ends of his well pointed Van Dyke in deliberation over the meats.  
His hand trembled with aggression as he gripped his rapier. Unfortunately, the amount of people shouldering through on market day made it impossible for D’Artagnan to draw without injuring several others in the process. That was no option for him.  
Instead, D’Artagnan pushed through the people to get close to him.  
“Monsieur! Monsieur!” He cried upon approaching him from the side. “Monsieur,” He began but remained unnoticed for an instant longer than he would have liked. He clasped the taller man’s shoulder with his free hand, and this action rubbed wet flakes of skin from the radish he had earlier crushed in rage onto his richly colored doublet.  
He took a breath in before turning to the shorter man at his side.  
D’Artagnan glared at him, and blew a strand of his darkened flax-colored away from his vision as he looked up at this man well over a head taller than him.  
It felt like an eternity to D’Artagnan who was so eager to regain his honor from the man who took it all from him and left him with nothing but a mess of piss and sperm, to reply to him.  
“I see you have not remembered your manners, young man. You are still wearing your doublet.” He remarked, turning on his heel so as to get a better view at the young man.  
For him to have replied, knowing of his character and intent, in such an apathetic form further invigorated D’Artagnan. This older man’s etiquette taunts were to be the death of the gascon.  
It then reminded him that this was indeed the same doublet he wore when the older man violated him. He would like to think that this is all the better, then for it would show that the younger male was indeed all his own and did not carry the stink of the older man with the long, blackish hair.  
“Why, that does not matter! Your walk away from me was not the end of it, Monsieur!” He argued and huffed, as the older man pulled his hand from his shoulder. He wiped the veggie residue from his garment before continuing.  
All of his movements were slow and deliberate. It made him appear refined and wise. Knowing his strength and capacity for cruelness, the young gascon felt as if he exhibited kindness in his restriction as well.  
“Please,” He began. “Show me to your home where we could continue your lessons in politeness, young man.” By the end of his statement, he had broke into a chuckle. His eye contact, expression, and choice of phrase - It’s directness or perhaps it’s content was very intimidating in addition to exciting to the man with the lighter hair.  
“I demand it! I-I will defeat you this time,” He grumbled and with his opposite hand slapped the handle of his rapier which he tilted forward with the hand grasping it.  
‘How fortunate for I to have stumbled upon this dirty boy once more.’ The older man though as he began to walk against his new little plaything. D’Artagnan was just his type, he had such a boyish charm and aggressive spirit. He gave him more than enough material to humiliate, he was such an obvious and fumbling virgin.  
Likewise, for D’Artagnan the older man seemed to hit all the right spots for him with attraction, as well. He was more experienced in every aspect, and had that intimidating air of authority. He had already witnessed his mean streak, and had the perverse pleasure of observing his enormous endowment.  
But, he was so unaccustomed to being attracted to men. The possibility baffled him, D’Artagnan as a youth in Gascony had on and off courted women and enjoyed doing so very much.  
How is it, then, that after one encounter with a male like him, D’Artagnan had become so raucously attracted to men this way? To be courted like he was doing now, it was indeed exciting. D’Artagnan had no idea that he desired such things, and would in fact desire a hyper masculine male such as his new foe, a far deal greater than he would a woman?  
Is it the role reversal which excited him? No, the way D’Artagnan loves women is soft and gentle - He recalled copious foreplay and no luck for what would follow as they explored each other clumsily and with patience. The way this man loves D’Artagnan is ultimately and aggressively backhanded agape. Therefore, D’Artagnan must be attracted to the other man for himself.  
Yes, the older man who now wrapped his ungloved hand around his waist as they walked together now off the street. Who was pale and well put-together, with beautiful long hair that framed his face and flowed behind him as he walked.  
“Monsieur,” D’Artagnan gestured once more to his rapier. Yes, even in his blushing state he mustn’t forget that he was here to fight him and earn back his self-respect.  
“You must tell me your name, so I know how to mark your grave after I defeat you.” To be honest, D’Artagnan couldn’t tell if he wanted to know for his stated reason, or to get to know more of this mysterious man.  
He faced D’Artagnan once again. Then, he made an expression before speaking to him. “You may call me Rochefort.” Finally, it is revealed.  
D’Artagnan lingered on his voice. This older man, Rochefort, he was so elegant in his expensive doublet. It made him feel like his heart beat just a little differently, when he was with him.  
However, before the younger man could speak he was interrupted.  
“See, I appreciate your efforts, young man. However, I don’t think you understand that I am now taking it upon myself to educate you in proper etiquette.”  
Because D’Artagnan did not get a response to his threat, it threw him off his train of mind further.  
“Is it because I called your Monsieur? You don’t want to fight me, then? You had said that I don’t understand-” He immediately inquired.  
With a wave of his ungloved hand, Rochefort interrupted D’Artagnan again. Perhaps he greatly enjoyed careful consideration of social etiquette because this would enable him to subtly degrade his inferiors like D’Artagnan - He got a thrill off of it and it was properly acceptable.  
“Yes, my boy. I don’t have any desire to fight you, but your manners are still atrocious.” He laughed. “I simply cannot let you continue on in this fashion. Now, please lead me on so we can have a private conversation.” He gripped D’Artagnan harder and urged him to take more direction.  
He followed suit, finding himself sweating under his brownish hair. His hand faltered and fell from the handle of his rapier. As they walked, he stole glances at the other man’s endowment.  
It strained against his breeches obviously, but not lewdly. His gaze became longer and longer, he very much enjoyed seeing it flex and shift around in front of his powerful thighs as the older man walked. It further ignited his own which had began to spring to life from the moment he heard Rochefort’s voice once again; D’Artagnan had spent so long fantasizing about him he had his own erotic response. This man, Rochefort. Oh yes, how rude! I did not say my ‘Nice to meet you’!  
“It is very nice to meet you, Monsieur Rochefort!” The young gascon spoke shakily to him.  
“It is very nice to meet you, indeed! And your name, Monsieur?” He replied instantly.  
He felt hot, his face was blushing too hard. “D’Artagnan from Gascony.” He swallowed hard. He had used him intimately before knowing his name, three weeks ago.  
“Monsieur D’Artagnan, I think I ought to let you know that staring at another gentleman’s groin is inappropriate.” You could plainly feel that he drew pleasure from that statement.  
“W-Well, then. My apologies Monsieur Rochefort.” The brown haired boy stammered to his superior and turned away.  
“We come now upon my door.” He changed the subject swiftly, motioning for him to climb the stairs to his apartment.  
“Thank you, Monsieur.” He bowed to the younger man, waiting for him to pass and allow him to enter. “I always enjoy the company of a fine young man who knows his manners.”  
Rochefort undoubtedly knew all of D’Artagnan’s hot buttons, or was it completely unintentional?  
“It is indeed a pleasure as always!” He exclaimed with a nervous laugh, and wiped his reddened face.  
D’Artagnan led him upstairs and unlocked his door for him. Seeing Rochefort in his shabby apartment was the interesting contrast - The regal older man in an expensive doublet peering disappointedly around where D’Artagnan spent his days.  
Upon opening the door, he knew it was going to be bad. The reek from his mattress, it had never been washed since D’Artagnan had begun bedwetting. It was enough for Rochefort to recoil from the smell, complete with him holding his nose, cringing, and waving his hand to better get the stink away from him.  
Shocked, the gascon didn’t know what to do in this situation.  
“My a-apologies! Monsieur!” He shut the door, skirting around him to face the taller man again.  
Worse, the yellow stains were prominent on the fabric. D’Artagnan’s night shift was in full view, as he had not been expecting a visitor, and was complete with terrible matching yellow layered stains of multiple sizes.  
He rubbed his upper lip with a finger, and shifted his weight like there was something on his mind. The younger man could only look to him anxiously.  
After Rochefort took in a breath through his mouth and further consumed it for a moment did he speak.  
“My, my... Ironic that you are a chronic bedwetter, D’Artagnan.” This sentence should be accompanied with a laugh, but this was not the circumstance.  
“Monsieur?” The brunet boy shifted nervously. “I have a small bladder, I take care of it the best that I can, I promise you!” He tried to explain. The full extent of it, all stemming from his first round of sex with Monsieur Rochefort, it did not occur to the older man.  
The blackish haired man shook his head. “Young man, you are so filthy. It is so rude…” He dwelled on his last word. Maybe, this was building up to something.  
Rochefort gripped at his straining dick through his breeches. To see the young man live so filthy… He wished to frott against him while he squirmed.  
He turned back to D’Artagnan, who shrieked fearfully, while Rochefort gripped him and pushed him back onto his own soiled bed. He fell back into his own erotic rhetoric.  
“You were doing so good, young man. But first with that terrible radish, and now with your incessant bedwetting… It appalls me! You should be ashamed of yourself!” He spat at him while he scrambled to pin him to the reeking pad.  
He fumbled with his own doublet, eventually unbuttoning it carefully enough and then slipping off his shift and sliding off his boots. His hose and breeches would have to wait.  
Rochefort’s dark hair fell sensually around the pale shoulders of the middle-aged man. While D’Artagnan looked up at him, the view was breathtaking. His penis hardened further and he couldn’t stifle his moaning cry in time from the sight of his fantasy.  
“You stupid boy, you took that man’s radish without even paying him. Tomorrow, I want you to go to his stall in the market and apologize to him!” Rochefort grabbed D’Artagnan’s diminutive bulge through his orange breeches and squeezed him firmly. It was indeed rough, and elicited a gasp from him.  
The brown-haired boy shut his eyes and writhed, he bit his lip and he moaned from it.  
Unrelenting, the older man then went to unfasten his breeches. “I should have said something then and there, but I was much too excited to see you.” He breathed, and D’Artagnan’s fully erect cock sprung free from his restraints.  
It was pink, and no longer than Rochefort’s own index finger; He could see it twitching to life with faint veins in the now hard muscle as it sat atop D’Artagnan’s brown and hairy testes.  
It would have been easy to suckle on it - just to tease him - however, the older man knew that if he did this he would not be able to imply that he was dirty because of his pissing habit and in his heart he knew he was above it.  
For the time being, he ignored the ever fattening slab of cockmeat attatched to himself as it gorged itself on the blood rushing to it from seeing D’Artagnan.  
“And furthermore, you dirtied my doublet with the remains of that awful vegetable. The very same that you stole from that farmer!” He continued, giving his sack another rough squeeze before pulling down the rest of his breeches. In turn, brunet man sighed sensually and bucked his hips; He could feel precum begin to fling from his hidden tip from the commotion.  
“Please, Monsieur. Apologize to me, I shouldn’t have to ask.” Rochefort shook his head, thumbing around his testes exploratively. “You know this to be the truth.”  
Unfortunately, he was unable to create a response for him in his current stupor.  
It took until Rochefort applied himself more for him to speak.  
“What do you say for yourself, young man? When you make a mess like that?” He hissed, sliding his breeches off and shifting his weight to get a better grip on his hose.  
“I am so sorry, Monsieur!” The writhing D’Artagnan cried.  
“My apologies, I don’t know if I heard you right. Did somebody say my name? You are going to have to speak up, young man.” Rochefort teased him more as he had come to his boots and slid them one by one off of him.  
“Monsieur Rochefort! I am sorry, Monsieur Rochefort! I didn’t mean to ruin your doublet!” He could feel precum starting to stream out of his completely erect cock. It seemed miniature in comparison to Rochefort’s.  
“Much better, young man!” He licked his lips, having fully undressed D’Artagnan’s bottom half as he lay writhing and gasping on his own dirtied mattress.  
“I should undress you myself, then,” The older man huffed, the tightness in his own breeches was starting to become unbearable - he felt like the fabric cinched around his dick as it throbbed and leaked his own precum freely against his hairy thighs.  
“Because, you have proved yourself to be no better than an unbreeched boy, young man. Would you rather wear a gown, then? You cannot go a day without soiling yourself.” Rochefort continued his verbal tirade on the man underneath him as he returned to eye-level.  
The humiliation was very apparent to D’Artagnan. This was his own insecurities being toyed with for pleasure, he felt like he could cry in shame.  
Rochefort’s hands swiftly unbuttoned the brunet boy’s doublet. As he did this, he decided he could no longer wait and frotted against him through his clothes.  
D’Artagnan gasped erotically and threw his hands helplessly above him. He felt wholly invigorated by the spasmic throbbing of Rochefort’s mighty penis as it lay menacingly upon his body.  
Finally rendering him nude, the older man hastily removed his new companion’s shift and tossed it aside.  
“Your urine mess disgusts me, boy. Do you sleep on this? Would I be able to fix the situation by fucking you on this reeking mat? I then could rub your face in it! Would you learn your lesson then?” Rochefort sat up on his knees above D’Artagnan as he glared down upon him. “You cannot be a fine and polite young gentleman if you have such foul habits. Does it really not bother you? Well, I think it is beyond shameful.”  
“No.. I-I hate it.” The brunet man whimpered to him. ‘Damn, I really need his lesson....’ He thought to himself.  
Rochefort thrust his hips forward for D'Artagnan who lay below him. “Please, Monsieur,” The older man began, seeing his cock beginning to become so erect that it threatened to tear out from his lower garment.  
“Unfasten my breeches before I destroy them.” He nodded in gesture to his cock which was appeared presently like it was using the garment for a hammock. “Do tell me of what your erotic thoughts consist of. I might think that you enjoyed the way I pissed on you when I first met you.” Rochefort’s words struck a nerve in the young gascon.  
Delighted, he obliged and pulled the fabric down in order to release his cock. It bobbed freely from the action, and Rochefort gripped it quickly to reveal his pink cocktip to D’Artagnan.  
D’Artagnan didn’t want to tell the truth to this older man. At least, not the complete truth.  
“It is not that, Monsieur.” He attempted to speak seriously, but with this huge throbbing pillar of flesh beckoning before him he could barely hold himself back. He felt his precum become further invigorated from this action and it rolled down the underside of his own, much smaller penis, eagerly. He quickly stifled his gasp by biting his lip.  
“There is a beautiful brown-haired man that I think of.” He shut his eyes and blushed deeply. It was true that the thought of Rochefort made D’Artagnan’s cock twitch.  
His ginger rhetoric was pure of D’Artagnan’s personality. This was an incredible, genuine phrase on behalf of this younger man. Although, it was not the content which had caught Rochefort off guard, but it was the choice of phrase he decided to say it so in.

It had been too long since Rochefort had been on the receiving end of a comment like this. Thus, he could not determine the younger man’s phrase’s authenticity to himself. Inside, it made him feel special. His hand moved to pat and stroke D’Artagnan’s head as he obediently pulled his breeches down to his knees.  
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable thinking of girls, Monsieur D’Artagnan?” He sputtered, but felt his chest stir within himself. “Young man, I am practically old enough to be your father! Besides,” He hummed to himself, feeling his penis engorge more and more.  
Now, it was thick like D’Artagnan’s arm at the elbow at its widest. It emanated a deep and masculine musk further powerful than any the younger male had smelled before; And it’s veins throbbed visibly under the pale skin of the older man.  
“Don’t you feel a little emasculated?” Pointedly, the older man flexed his cock; It bobbed and pulsated deliciously. The action sent a spurt of pungent precum into D’Artagnan’s face.  
“However, I think that is cute.” Rochefort bit his lip in an effort to deflect his actions as he focused on becoming fully erect. Because of his enormous size, it took a great deal of work on behalf of the man. “Knowing that such a fine young man such as you would rather fervently beat your pathetically tiny cock to an older man, over any girlfriend that you might have had.” Sadistically, he continued.  
It sent D’Artagnan ablaze. He moaned loudly in response. Both of them knew it was too true; But the brunet knew it ran deeper. His hands spread the shining precum over the massive shaft.  
The desire broke and the rambunctious younger man flipped himself over for Rochefort.  
“Monsieur,” His voice shook. “Monsieur Rochefort!” Surely a sign of his growing manners, the brown haired young man corrected himself.  
“Please, Monsieur. I cannot deny it.” His hair settled in his vision, but D’Artagnan couldn’t care. He was done with letting his own shame humiliate him over his sexual desires.  
His hands flew to the younger male’s waist as they oriented themselves. His cock twitched excitedly as he found his way to the tanned boy’s virgin hole.  
Frightened but excited, he whimpered, feeling the more than forearm sized shaft slide inside of him. It plunged through him deep, and the younger male could feel it’s outline obvious against the skin of his own abdomen.  
Following this was the painful slapping of Rocheforts two fist-sized testicles against his own.  
He felt completely emasculated by this. His own balls were hardly bigger than two grapes. There was nothing about D’Artagnan’s package that made it further enticing than the older man’s.  
The gascon shrieked, his penis throbbing painfully as his body recoiled from the force.  
Rochefort was relentless as he fucked him, He swore he could feel it expanding within him as it throbbed and pulsated. The sensations drove D’Artagnan mad.  
“So-” He was gripping the younger man with both hands at the waist. If he had wrapped one around to his front, he could likely feel the beating tip of his penis below D’Artagnan’s sternum as he fucked him.  
“How does it feel, young man? To be fucked by a man old enough to be your father?” Rochefort repeated this phrase because he knew it humiliated the tanned brunet male.  
Soon enough, the powerful thrusts of Rochefort overtook him  
He could only moan and toss his head back, unable of any verbal response to him. He fervently rubbed the older man’s shaft as it poked through his abdomen during intercourse. It was all he wanted.  
This younger male wanted to do everything in his diminutive power to please him.  
His cock flung precum as it bounced from the action, and Rochefort lost himself in the rhythm as he grinded against the gascon with the beautiful tan skin.  
The real duration of their act was unclear, but it was certain that the younger man came first.  
He pounded his fists on the mattress and shouted until he was hoarse. He could feel Rochefort’s pulsing and meaty cock stretching him out with each throb from the horrible muscle. His dick sprayed forcefully.  
The load was tiny, but it was obvious to anyone that would be the case since the older man with the blackish hair’s package outmatched his own.  
Weakened and moaning submissively, the brown-haired D’Artagnan pumped both hands around the outline of Rochefort’s cock presently buried inside of him.  
It certainly aided in bringing about his climax. He shot impossibly thick semen into D’Artagnan.  
There was a lot he could have said about the climax deep within him that he felt. His stomach felt horribly bloated. The incredible virility of Rochefort made D’Artagnan imagine that he could feel the sperm swimming around inside of his body, there were so many and of great power. Perhaps, that was the reason it felt so thick and heavy within. If D’Artagnan had to compare it with something, he would describe it as if he had to swallow warm gelatin.  
And for Rochefort, the wonderful pressure of the younger male’s body was everything he needed. Such a polite young man, he remained so determined he could only stand to feel the cock bulge out of him to further his own climax.  
With a deep and masculine groan, Rochefort continued to deposit his load inside of his new companion. It flowed from him like he was pissing.  
Already, it was spilling down the backs of the brunet’s thighs; Milky streaks and thick ivory pools around both of the men.  
He gasped, still holding D’Artagnan at the small of his back. The man with the long blackish hair closed his eyes, still inside of the younger man and let loose his piss upon him once more.  
Although in this instance, it was inside of him. It was slight but noticeable as it furthered the disgusting and distorted bulge in the brunet’s bloated stomach.  
Rochefort unsheathed himself from D’Artagnan and continued to piss on him. Golden fluids, they sprayed on his back and down his neck as the older man shook off his massive and softening penis.  
“My, my, young man,” He hummed to himself, seeing the awful gaping mess he had left in D’Artagnan.  
In response the brunet looked over his shoulder at him. “I must say that your manners are improving greatly.” Rochefort gave his obligatory remark without too much thought.  
Truthfully, he was too busy catching his breath from the exchange.  
His words felt like light on D’Artagnan’s face. This time, it was vastly different. Covered in the older man’s piss and semen, he looked forward to his next lesson with Monsieur Rochefort.  
Rochefort had thought to himself, that he ought to fall asleep next to the younger male. It felt like the right thing to do.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading  
> feedback appreciated  
> let me know what you thought :D


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